


AU Prompt Fills (NSFW ones)

by ThisWasInevitable



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Anal Sex, Bad Boy Duck, Bars and Pubs, Casual Sex, Dirty Talk, Flirting, Fluff and Smut, High School AU, Light Bondage, M/M, Oral Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Work, Skinny Dipping, Superhero Barclay, TAZ: Amnesty - Freeform, The authoy vaguely misuses the Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock, Trans Barclay, Trans Duck Newton, Trans Male Character, Trans Stern, Vaginal Fingering, indruck, prompt fills, sternclay, the lightest of angsts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2020-04-11 22:14:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19118746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisWasInevitable/pseuds/ThisWasInevitable
Summary: A collection of NSFW fills from a list made by Veronica Bunch.





	1. Nightswimming (Sternclay)

Full Prompt: it’s almost 3am so I go down to the lake to skinny dip and you decide to join me but you don’t realize I’m naked 

Barclay has some things he misses from the Pacific Northwest. Good craft beer, lots of bakeries, lots of ocean. Right now, he’s missing the fact that the air doesn’t feel like goddamn soup in the summertime.

It’s almost two in the morning. His room won’t cool down now matter what he does, and the humidity makes the effort needed to fall asleep feel insurmountable.

Time for drastic measures.

He slips on his shoes and heads off into the woods. About a quarter of a mile later he finds himself at the shore of a small lake, one that’s usually deserted during the day. Late at night, it’s as peaceful as the grave.

Had he just been looking to soak, he could’ve used the springs. But he has other ideas, pulls off all his clothes and folds them on a rock before slipping into the water. Sinking under the water he swims a few yards back before coming up to float on his back, sighing as his body finally feels cool and not sticky.

For awhile all he does is float. It’s not that he doesn’t love the lodge, love his friends. But he’s always had a solitary streak, and things have been so chaotic and terrible lately that he hasn’t had two minutes of alone time to rub together.

Just as he finishes this thought, there’s the sound of footfalls coming down the trail towards the small dock.

His mind flashes through possibilities as he shifts to stand on the lake bed, water up to his mid-chest: tourists? Other lodge residents? Hornets? An abomination?

“Oh, good evening Barclay. I thought I heard someone down here.”

It’s the worst possible option, then.

He turns towards the dock and waves awkwardly at Agent Stern, the man who’s literally hunting him. And the man who has morphed into a crush that Barclay is never going to admit to.

Stern is in shorts and a “Roswell, NM” T-Shirt, with a bag slung over his shoulder.

“Yeah, uh, couldn’t sleep so I came down here for a swim.”

“A wise idea. I’ve been on a stakeout in the woods since 10 PM and I feel like I may never be unsweaty again.”

“No luck on the stakeout?”

“No, as always.” He sits down on the dock, begins undoing his shoe laces, “don’t know why I thought I’d find Bigfoot out in the woods in the dead of night, but at this point I can’t afford to dismiss an idea. I think I’ll soak my feet for a minute before heading back.”

He dips his feet into the water and lets out a happy sigh and Barclay can’t help but smile; the man is a threat to him on a variety of levels, but it’s moment like this, where he’s vulnerable and relaxed and dressed like the paranormal-seeking nerd he is that have made Barclay grow attached to him. No reason he can’t chat with him for a few minutes, as long as he keeps his lower body safely under the waterline.

“Did I miss any excitement in the lodge this evening?”

“Nah, except Jake doing a very ill-fated cannonball into the springs.”

(And Aubrey accidentally setting a couch on fire, but Stern doesn’t need to know that).

Stern swings his legs in the water, clearly lost in thought.

“Any exciting plans this weekend?”

“Work, mostly.” Barclay shrugs.

“Would you be interested in-ow!” Stern slaps his arm, “Damn bugs. How are you not being eaten alive?”

“Water keeps most of me out of range.” He indicates how much of him is still covered by the lake.

(And mosquitoes don’t seem to like Sylph blood, but he keeps that to himself).

“Right, then, I’m joining you because this is unpleasant and I’m still. so. _Sticky_.” He strips his shirt off and folds it, rests his shorts on top of it and Barclay is screwed, he’s so screwed, because Stern is in his boxers and is now in the water. Mercifully he doesn’t swim towards Barclay, choosing instead to sink under the water and then pop up near some boulders to Barclays right.

“Good god that feels nice. You’re a genius, Barclay.”

“Pretty sure it doesn’t take a genius to know cold water takes the edge of a West Virginia summer.”

“I suppose, but allow me the pleasure of complimenting you alright?” Stern shoots back teasingly and Barclay’s about to stammer out a retort when he disappears under the water.

Goddammit, where did he go? He can’t get too close or he’s going to realize Barclay is skinny dipping and, no, no, body, he is not going to get turned on at the idea of his crush finding him naked by surprise.

Stern rises from the water to his side, now a little more than an arms length away.

“Hello.” He smiles, and he looks so boyish, so unlike his collected, intimidating self.

“Hi.” Barclay whispers.

“I will gladly leave you to you peaceful swim in a moment, if that’s what you’d prefer.”

“No, uh, no need to rush off on my account. Don’t mind sharing the lake.”

Oh come on, is he turning into Duck? Why didn’t he just lie and say he wanted Stern to leave?

It’s then he notices Stern has gotten closer, and seems to be examining his scars. He rubs his arm, trying to hide the nerves arising at the idea of the man asking about some of the ones that came from Pine Guard work.

“What happened to your wrist?”

“Oven” he lets himself relax, “it’s common for cooks to get a sort of permanent burn scar there from bumping their arm on the roof of the oven.”

“Sounds painful.”

“Nah, not the worst injury I’ve gotten in a kitchen.” He flips over his hand, shows his palm, “got that trying to break down a chicken.”

Stern winces, then reaches out and glides a thumb across the jagged mark on Barclays upper bicep.

“What about this?”

“Dog attack.”

(A dog shaped abomination).

“This one?”

“Rock climbing incident.”

(He had to get away from that camera crew somehow).

“You’ve lived quite a life.” Stern murmurs, hand still moving up and down his arm and giving him goosebumps, his body screaming at him to to reach out and reciprocate the gesture.

“What about you, any battle scars?” He nudges Stern playfully.

“Other than these,” he indicates the two semi-circles on his chest, “hmmmm. Oh!” He tugs the edge of his boxers down to show his hip, “I got this falling off a roof.”

“Ouch, were you sneaking out to meet a guy or something?”

“No….I was trying to look for UFOs and lost my balance.”

Barclay covers his mouth as he laughs, tries to speak as he does, “that’s-”

“Silly, I know.”

“I was gonna say adorable.” He grins, then realizes what he just said.

Stern laughs softly, clears his throat trying to dispel the strange feeling building in the air.

“You have the twin of it, look.” He places his index finger on Barclays hip and moves it down. Then keeps moving it down, eyes widening in realization.

“ _That’s_ why you were staying so far from shore.”

“Yep.” Barclay is frozen in place, voice tight, in part because Stern hasn’t stopped gliding his finger along his skin.

“In retrospect, I should have noticed your underwear folded on top of your pants on the shore.”

“In my defense, I wasn’t expecting company.”

“In _my_ defense, I wasn’t expecting to find the best looking man in the state swimming in the moonlight.”

“I, uh, wait, what?”

“I’m very attracted to you, Barclay, I thought I’d made that obvious.” His hand comes up, rubs lightly across Barclays chest.

“Kind of, maybe, I, uh, goddamn it I can’t focus when you’re doing that.”

“Should I stop?”

“Please don’t.” He tips his head back with a groan as Stern closes the remaining distance between them, wraps one arm around him while the other continues tracing along his body. He brings his hands to rest on Sterns hips, feels the front of his boxers rubbing against his cock.

“Mmmm, and how long have you been dealing with that situation” Stern rolls his hips and Barclay shudders.

“Since you took your shirt off.”

“Holy shit, Barclay.”

“Not my fault you’ve got a body that makes me drool and a face I can’t stop picturing between my thighs.” He mumbles against the top of Sterns head as the smaller man begins frantically kissing his neck. On a whim, he lowers his hands down and squeezes Sterns ass, earning him a rather surprised moan. Does it again, starts grinding against him and Stern meets his eyes, panting.

“I was, I was going to ask you to dinner tomorrow night but I don’t think I can wait that long.”

“For whatAHhhhn, yes, babe.” Fingers close around his cock, stroking it lovingly and he buries his face against Sterns neck to muffle a growl.

“Good god, this is just as impressive as it looks in your jeans.”

“Rude to ogle a guy when he’s working.”

“Not as rude as staring at a guest in the hot springs WHoahoh.” Stern loses his balance slightly, letting go of Barclays cock to as he does so and the larger man steadies him.

“We oughta move this somewhere we aren’t gonna fall on our asses.”

“Anywhere, name it, hey!” Stern yelps out a laugh as Barclay lifts him by his ass and hooks his legs around his hips, that position and the buoyancy offered by the water allowing him to carry him over to the nearest patch of shore. Barclay sets him down carefully, waits for him to toss his boxers aside before pouncing on him. Stern whimpers and bites at his lips as they kiss, hips moving up and down in the air between them.

“Don’t worry babe, I’ll take care of you.” He presses his fingers against Sterns dick, rolling his thumb along it in a way that makes Stern dig his nails into his shoulder. When he slips two fingers in Stern gasps, sits up on his elbow so he can resume stroking Barclays cock.

“Good?”

“Yes, Barclay, so good, oh god.” His grip on him tightens and he adds twists to his upstrokes.

“Fuck, that’s it. Goddamn, you look so good getting fucked open like this”

Stern moans, licks his lips as he opens his legs further so Barclay can add another finger.

“Oh, you like that don’t you, dirty boy? That why you’re trying to get my cum all over that gorgeous stomach?”

“Uh huh, so much, god, love it when you talk like that.”

A growling laugh leaves Barclays chest at that.

“Then make me cum on you, babe, c’mon, ohhhhshit!” His hand tenses inside Stern as he cums across his stomach and chest, and for a moment all he can do is marvel at the absolute mess of a man beneath him and how much he wants him.

And then he drops down to kiss him, hand fucking him relentlessly and mouth swallowing up his cries and then fingers dig into his hair and shoulder and the movements of Sterns hips die down to small pulses. He slips his hand out, presses soft kisses against Sterns cheek and neck as he comes down from his orgasm.

“Barclay?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m getting mosquito bites in places I don’t want them.”

“Can’t have that.” He slowly sits up, Stern mirroring the motion, “and I got you sticky again. Sorry.”

“I have no regrets, that was completely worth it. Although…” he gazes at the water, then back at Barclay somewhat flirtatiously, “I wouldn’t mind another dip in the lake.”

Barclay smiles, stands, offers his hand and begins guiding Stern back into the water as the stars wink happily above them.


	2. What You Deserve (Indruck)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: you always bring your Tinder/Grindr dates to my bar and have sex in the bathroom and I really think you need to get better standards (spoiler: I’m not so upset when it’s us having sex in the bathroom)
> 
> As a CW, Indrid has lots of casual sex that, we learn, started out as something he liked but that he may now be using as a less than ideal coping mechanism

It’s a busy Friday night at the bar; spring has come and folks are ready to be out and about. From his position as bartender (and owner), Duck sees many new faces mixed in with the old ones and smiles. The Beacon is his pride and joy, and he likes to see people enjoying themselves.

When he steps into the hallway leading to the bathrooms he hears a familiar voice under the music and crowd, one that tells him a certain regular is also enjoying himself.

“Oh yes, _yes_ , more, please.” A lilting, begging voice comes from behind the wall. Yep, it’s Indrid alright.

Business as usual then.

The skinny, white-haired man started coming in two months ago. At first he just sat at the bar, ordered the sweetest thing on the menu, and chatted with Duck. After a few weeks, he started bringing in a new date every night, usually two or three times a week. These dates (a term Duck uses loosely) follow the same pattern: Indrid and the guy arrive, make small talk at the bar while they have a drink (also a term Duck uses loosely, since Indrid’s drinks have almost no booze), then disappear into the bathroom for a little while, returning a little disheveled. Sometimes the guy stays, keeps chatting with Indrid, sometimes they leave together. Most times the guy doesn’t stick around long.

Because of the proximity of the bathroom to the supply closets Duck needs to visit during work, he often ends up hearing just what goes on between Indrid and his date of the day. Some nights, from the noises he’s making, it’s clear Indrid is getting fucked, likely against the door. Other nights, he can’t hear him, only his date, meaning Indrid is on his knees with a dick in his mouth.

Duck tries not to worry or judge. Indrid’s a grown-ass man, and can fuck as many guys as he wants. Hell, Duck’s had plenty of bathroom and backseat one-nighters in his time.

But.

Whenever he overhears him, or sees him at the bar after the trysts, all he can think is that Indrid somehow deserves better than a bathroom hook-up who half the time won’t stick around for a second drink. A dinner date, maybe, or a spin through Golden Gate park. Flowers, he bets Indrid would like those. At the very least, he deserves someone who will offer him their jacket when he starts shivering no matter how warm the bar is. Only three guys have, and Duck decide those three are the ones he most approves of.

Then again, maybe the guy he’s with now is a good one.

“Ah! Harder, please, oh goodness yes I-”

“Jesus, do you ever shut up?”

That’s a no then.

When they get back to the bar, Duck glares at the guy as he pays the tab and leaves with only a few words to Indrid, who keeps his eyes downcast.

“Bit of dud?” He leans over the bar, wishing for way to make Indrid look less…muted.

“I suppose. Oh well, they can’t all be charmers.” He flashes Duck a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“That they can’t. Speakin’ of which-hey! Boyd I saw that!”

By the time he’s done calming one of his regulars down from trying to pick a fight with an out-of-towner, Indrid is gone.

———————————

A week later, when Duck sees Indrid take his latest date by the hand and lead him towards the bathrooms, he beats them to the door. He’s put this off longer than he should have.

“Uh uh, Indrid, not tonight.”

Indrid starts blushing with embarrassment as the man he’s with glowers at Duck. He remains undeterred.

“I been getting complaints from other patrons about your, uh, activities back here. It’s makin’ an awful lot of folks uncomfortable that they can hear someone gettin’ their dick sucked when they’re just tryin’ to use the john.”

“Hey, pal, how about you just ignore those complaints?” The date flashes a twenty at him.

“Nope.”

“Look, asshole, just because you serve the drinks at this shitty place-”

“Do not speak to him that way.” Indrid snaps, crosses his arms. The man looks at Duck, still blocking the door, then back at Indrid.

“Whatever, you’re not worth this much hassle.” He disappears.

Indrid glances at Duck, cheeks still pink.

“I’m sorry, Duck, I didn’t mean to cause trouble for you, or make people uncomfortable. I’ll just pay and go.”

“Hey, Indrid, it’s okay, you can stay I just needed you to know what was off-limits, I ain’t mad at you or nothin.” He touches his shoulder reassuringly and Indrid takes a sharp, shaky inhale.

“I, I’m sorry, I s-should”

Duck’s worked in a bar for years, he can tell when someone’s about to cry. Gently, he leads Indrid back to a staff break area, eases him down into a chair.

“You must think I’m reckless and awful.” It’s a sniffle and Duck, having no tissues, grabs a stray handful of napkins.

“Don’t think anythin’ of the kind. Sometimes wonder how you fell into the habits you have, but I also know that’s none of my damn business.”

Indrid blows his nose, tosses the napkin towards the trash.

“I m-moved here a few months ago to be with someone, after he got hired at a tech start-up. Two weeks after I got here, he dumped me. He, he said I was a walking disaster, that I talk too much, that, that I was a starter boyfriend at best and not really even good enough for that and didn’t deserve someone like him.”

“Asshole.” Duck mutters, rubbing a circle on Indrids back, a motion that seems to calm the skinnier man.

“I barely knew anyone, still don’t, and I liked hooking up at first because it was fun but it, it’s also because he was right, I shouldn’t ask for anything more than a few hours with someone. This feels like what I deserve.”

Duck lowers onto his knees in front of Indrid. Cups his chin with one hand, strokes his tangled strands of white hair with the other.

“Indrid, that’s the biggest load of bullshit I ever heard. I’ve gotten to know you plenty well and I can gauran-goddamn-tee you deserve better than givin’ a blowjob on a bathroom floor. You deserve the best this city and the guys in it have to offer.”

Indrid meets his gaze, eyes still watery behind his red glasses. But he smiles, soft and sweet and genuine.

“Thank you, Duck. That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said since I got here.”

Duck tucks a strand of hair behind his ear, takes a moment to admire the strange angles of Indrids face.

A crash from out front, followed by Leo, the other bartender, yelling “Boyd!”

“I better go help out. You stay here as long as you need.”

He glances back just as gets to the door. Indrid is looking at him. And he’s still smiling.

———————————

Duck’s resigned himself to the possibility of not seeing Indrid again. After all, the guy was clearly embarrassed and maybe that means he won’t come back to The Beacon.

But Tuesday night, Indrid is in like usual. This time, he’s alone.

“Hey stranger, what’ll you have?” Duck flashes him a teasing smile.

“The sweetest thing you can make me.”

Duck pours a few ingredients into a glass, tosses a maraschino cherry in and slides it to Indrid. The taller man takes a sip. Grins, takes another, and then chugs half the drink before popping the cherry into his mouth.

“What is this?”

“Shirley Temple.”

“Wait, that’s-”

“Nonalcoholic? Yeah. Look, Indrid, I got a confession: your drinks have had little to no booze in ‘em since week two you of you comin’ here, because I watched you wince and then not drink ‘em when they did. Don’t worry, I charged you less for ‘em. Even made you a few experimental ones that I figured would be to your tastes”

“You…made special drinks for me?”

“Yep.” Duck serves two more regulars as Indrid contemplatively sips from his glass.

“That’s sweet.”

“Oughta be, mostly grenadine.”

“No, I meant what you did. With the drinks” He smiles shyly at him and Duck feels his cheeks heat up.

“I think I’d only like nonalcoholic ones from now on.”

“Roger that.” Duck winks at him just as another regular, one he needs to have a word with, steps up to the bar.

“Ned, for chrissake, will you tell Boyd that he doesn’t need to take on every straight dude-bro who wanders in here.”

“I take it my beau has become overeager in his quest to ensure a safe space?”

“He broke a chair, Ned. And while I appreciate the time he literally carried the guy who took issue with me bein’ trans out the door, if I wanted a bouncer I’d hire one.”

“Very well friend Duck, very well.” Ned notices Indrid, nods at him, “I see you’re flying solo this evening.”

“Yes, I’ve decided a change of pace was in order.” He smiles at Duck again and this time his heart flutters more than it usually does when Indrid’s around.

The pattern changes over the next few weeks. Indrid will come in multiple days a week, though now he favors late afternoon or early evening on weekends, and shows up on weeknights that are usually slow. Duck makes him something sweet, with as many maraschino cherries as ice cubes. Indrid will talk with Duck, or draw on the sketchpad he brings, and as the days go by he starts to open up more to Ned, Boyd, and a few other regulars.

Through their talks, Duck learns that Indrid works as psychic/palm reader/tarot reader as well as taking commissions for his art. That he loves the fog, even though it’s cold, and that he really likes Dim Sum, boba tea, and kool-aid. They swap stories about their tattoos, and whenever Duck recommends a sight to see in the city or in the east bay, Indrid jots it down. Duck finds him easy to talk to, full of ideas and anecdotes, hands moving animatedly as he speaks and it’s so endearing Duck doesn’t mind the few times he knocks a glass over. 

Yeah, his ex was full of shit.

———————————

It’s a busy Friday night and Duck is feeling good. He woke up feeling himself (as his friend Aubrey likes to say) and as result is dressed extra sharp, with pants he knows make his ass look amazing. Indrid is in his usual spot, the stool on the farthest end of the bar, and although Duck doesn’t have much time to chat, he still sends the odd smile and wink his way. Towards the end of the night, right before closing, Indrid disappears and Duck assumes he went home.

After everyone is out, he shuts and locks the door and begins cleaning up. He steps into the bathroom to make sure it’s not so wrecked that he can’t leave it until tomorrow when he hears a familiar noise.

It’s Indrid, in the stall behind him, letting out breathy, high moans and clearly trying to keep quiet.

He sighs.

“Okay fellas, I already closed up, so how’s about continuin’ this somewhere else.”

There’s a muffled curse and then Indrid steps out. Alone. He washes his hands hurriedly.

“Sorry, I lost track of time.”

“Someone out there got you all worked up?”

Indrid turns, his eyes slowly taking in Duck from top to toe.

“You could say that.”

“Really now? What else could you say?”

“I’d say-” As Indrid speaks Duck takes a step towards him, accidentally knocking his keys from the counter onto the floor. Indrid kneels down to grab them, ends up eye-level with his belt, freezes as he looks up at Duck. They’re so close, so very close.

Indrid leans forward an inch, kisses Ducks stomach quickly, stands up just as fast and hands Duck his keys.

“I should go.” He doesn’t move an inch.

“First you should finish answerin’ my question.”

“I would say” Indrid whispers, picking his words carefully, “that if the person I was thinking of was in this room, I would very much not object to him kissing me.”

Duck doesn’t hesitate, takes Indrid by the shoulders and pulls him into a kiss. Indrid threads his fingers into Ducks hair, let’s the shorter man press him against the counter. Duck laughs into the kiss as Indrid starts taking the phrase “climb him like a tree” literally, trying to wrap his legs around Duck and bring them closer.

“Somethin else you want, darlin’?” Duck pants when they finally break apart.

“Yes, but I have it on good authority it’s not permitted in this bathroom.”

Duck slides his hands into Indrids back pockets.

“Ain’t no one here to make uncomfortable. And a perk of ownin’ the places is that I can make exceptions to the rules. Like, say, when a cute fella makes me so hard I can’t see straight.”

Indrid kisses him again at that, small eager sounds bubbling up in his throat.

“How d’you wanna do this?” Duck runs a finger along Indrids collarbone.

“Oh. Uh….” Indrid fiddles with the crystal he always wears around his neck, “I hadn’t given, that is, everyone just assumes I’ll bottom.”

“Well, I ain’t assumin’ nothin’, darlin’. Want you to tell me what you want.”

Indrid bites his lip, nervous, as he looks at Duck.

“May I fuck you?”

“Hell yeah.” Duck kisses him again before letting him step around him. Never has he been more grateful for the fact he keeps a basket of condoms in the bathroom for folks to take if they need. He undoes his belt, gets his pants and boxers down in a hurry and rests his elbows on the counter. When he looks at Indrid the man is frozen, condom in hand, staring at him.

“You doin’ alright there?”

“Yes.” Indrid licks his lips and Duck smirks, begins rubbing lazily at his clit.

“Enjoyin’ the view?” He purrs, gasps a little as he slips two fingers inside.

“Ohgodyes.” Indrid scrambles into motion, stepping behind Duck and wiggling his pants down. There’s a sound of tearing foil and then Duck slips his fingers back out so Indrids cock can take their place.

Indrid pushes in with a soft moan that Duck echoes, then pauses, trails kisses along Ducks neck and back. His hands come to rest atop Ducks, their fingers intertwining as he begins steadily thrusting.

“Goodness this is even better than I imagined.”

“Yeah?” Duck grins over his shoulder at Indrid, “that what you been doin’ while you’re here? Thinkin’ about what’d feel like, ohfuck, to get that nice dick of yours inside me?”

“Well, yes. But, oh god, not only that. I daydreamed about every part of you, touching each inch.” His hands begin roving across Ducks body, shoulders and stomach, chest and arms, even his thighs receive reverent, hungry touches. Duck groans in pleasure, and Indrid presses a kiss to the back of his head, breath growing shakier as his touches turn to grabs.

“C-can I go harder?” He whispers, nuzzling Ducks ear.

“Hard as you want, handsomeOHshit.” His nails scratch at the tile as Indrid straightens, grips his hips and pounds into him. He tosses his head back, a stream of praise and thanks leaving him underscored by the sound of skin hitting skin and that settles it, this is the hottest goddamn thing Duck’s ever seen. He locks eyes with Indrid in the mirror, grinning at how utterly ruined he looks. Indrid suddenly stops making noise, looks a little sheepish.

“Ain’t gotta be quiet on my account, darlin’, like hearin’ that sweet voice moanin’ my name.”

Indrid smiles at him before picking up his pace, hips snapping more erratically.

“Yes, gracious, Duck you feel so good, I’m so close.”

Duck growls, pushes his hips back.

“Sweetheart, Duck, ohmy yes _yesyesyes_.” He drops his forehead to rest against Duck as he comes, fingers pressing into his skin as he moans more high, broken sounds.

When he pulls out, Duck turns around, contemplating how he wants to come but by the time he’s finished the motion Indrid is on his knees. He thumbs at the join between Ducks hips and thighs, panting, gaze flicking between Ducks clit and his eyes.

“Please?” His eyes are puppy-dog wide. Duck smiles indulgently at him, nods and then Indrids head dives between his legs.

So this is why the guys were always so damn loud on nights when Indrid sucked them off. His tongue is fucking magic. Duck moans, tangles his hands into Indrids hair and grinds his hips.

“Holy fuck, shit, Indrid you’re fuckin’ amazing.”

Indrid meets his eyes, noticeably smiling even as he closes his lips around Ducks clit, making the man yelp and then growl.

“That’s it darlin’, suck my dick, yeah, oh fuck yeah, you’re doin’ so good, that’s it honeyohhhh.” He cums against Indrids tongue, which doesn’t stop moving until his hips stop pulsing.

There’s a minute where the only sound in the room is their joint, ragged breathing. Duck pulls his pants back on as Indrid shimmies his back up. When the taller man looks at him, Duck opens his arms in invitation.

Indrid is in them immediately. Duck holds him tight, feels a little hum of pleasure and happiness buzz against him out of Indrids chest.

From the bar, his closing time playlist switches to a new, slow song, and he begins to sway them gently to the melody.

_Wise men say_

_Only fools rush in_

_But I can’t help_

_Falling in love with you_

Jumping the gun a bit there, King, he thinks, but then Indrid grins down at him and he tilts his head, kissing him slowly and softly, Indrid caressing his cheek with his cold fingers and he knows exactly what the singer means.

They kiss and dance until the song ends. At which point Indrid goes pale.

“Oh no! Shoot! What time is it?” He digs his phone out of his pocket, “Oh damn it, BART will’ve stopped running by the time I get to the station.”

“Hey, no worries, I can call you a cab or one of those ubery things. Or…” Duck takes his hand, “if you don’t got anywhere you have to be in the mornin’, you could crash with me. I live upstairs, so it ain’t far.”

Indrid arches an eyebrow.

“An offer that comes, I’m sure, from purely the goodness of your heart?” He teases.

“Gotta be honest: yes. Fuckin around with you plus workin’ all night wore me out, so I ain’t gonna try anythin.”

Indrid cocks his head, unconvinced.

“Honest” Duck says,”besides, don’t expect anythin’ in exchange for offerin’ a friend a place to sleep.”

“And if the friend offers it tomorrow morning?” Indrid flutters his eyelashes.

“Then I ain’t gonna complain.” He smiles, offers Indrid his hand and the other man takes it.

Once they’re upstairs, he gives Indrid the chance to take the bed for himself and have Duck sleep on the couch but Indrid simply shakes his head, pulls Duck onto the bed with him. They change out of their street clothes, Duck into his boxers and Indrid into one of Ducks sweatshirts. Indrid makes himself into the big spoon, kissing Duck on the neck as they settle in for the night.

“Indrid?”

“Yes Duck?”

“Will you let me take you out? Like on a real date or two, or more if things are goin’ well?”

“Gladly.” Indrid sighs, snuggles up closer, and Duck squeezes the hand resting on his chest.

In the morning Duck wakes up first, slips out of the apartment for a quick errand. By the time he gets back Indrid is stirring, and the skinnier man smiles when Duck holds aloft the breakfast he brought. The smile grows neon-bright when Duck reveals his other purchase from behind his back:

Flowers.


	3. Come on Sugar Daddy, Bring Me Home (Indruck)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "I've become a regular client of yours and I want to know what it would cost to be your only client."

Indrid studies himself in the mirror for about the fiftieth time. He wants to look his best, because Duck will be here soon. It’s not their first time together, far from it. But tonight is different.

Tonight is special.

——————–

He’d hired companions before. He’d been on earth a long time and never quite gotten the hang of dating. But he had wanted companionship and sex from time to time, and money (the money that comes with being able to know the outcome of a sports game, a roll of dice, or the stock market before anyone else does) was the simplest way to secure that for a strange looking man who smiled a bit too wide and was always a bit ahead of the person he was talking to. He didn’t do it often, but every now and then it was worth it to have someone charming and nice to look at in his bed for an hour or so. Technology made it all the easier to arrange.

Duck had been one such arrangement, arrived at Indrids door with a crooked smile and the most wonderful drawl he’d ever heard. Soft and solid all at once and it made Indrids mouth water to look at him.

“How d’you want me?” He surveyed Indrids living room as he asked this, smile easy on his face but set with determination and a matter-of-factness that Indrid enjoyed.

“No way, quite just yet. We have things to discuss first.” He’d gestured to the table and Duck hesitated before taking a seat.

“Discuss?”

“Boundaries, likes and dislikes. I want this to be pleasant for both of us, and painful for neither.”

“I’m up for what-”

“-ever I want.” Indrid finished the phrase on top of him, bit his inner lip at the habit he couldn’t shake, “Look at the list in front of you. There’s nothing on it that’s off limits?”

Duck studied the paper Indrid had set out ahead of time, mis-matched eyes going wide when he hit certain lines.

“I uh, nope, all still good to go, uh, fuck, I mean uh. Fuck.”

“That was a terrible attempt at a lie.”

“Yeah, I know.” He sighed, looked at Indrid and for the first time he saw nerves cross his face. Indrid reached across the table, took his hand gently and squeezed it. Caught himself before his smile got too wide to be reassuring.

“Just pick a few from the list you enjoy and we can go from there.”

He’d chosen something straightforward, and soon he was flushed and panting, flat on his back on the bed as Indrid fucked him. He was warm and sturdy and Indrid reveled in it, took his time drawing out new sounds of delight from the younger man. After he’d departed, Indrid made a note to hire him again.

And again.

And again.

And then it was habit for Indrid to contact Duck each weekend, then during the week as well and he found himself looking forward to the few hours (if that) they spent together.

He’s never been quite sure what moment it began to change. When Duck had begun to linger afterwards, when he started asking him to dinner before bringing him home. This was the first shift, when Indrid went from an hourly client to something more akin to a sugar daddy.

Perhaps it was when, as Indrid lay happy and exhausted against Ducks chest, he’d said something funny and the shorter man had laughed so hard, so undignified that it made Indrid laugh too and then Ducks face was pressed against his shoulder as he tried unsuccessfully to stifle the giggles.

Perhaps it was the day when Duck arrived for an appointment visibly sore from whatever he’d been doing with other clients and Indrid had coaxed him into laying on the bed so he could rub the ache from his limbs. The man had fallen asleep with his head in Indrids lap as he worked at the knots in his shoulders. Aside from a brief respite to take care of the hard-on he’d developed just from touching him, Indrid had stayed on the bed, drawing as Duck slept curled up against him.

Perhaps it was the day he’d asked Duck if there was somewhere in the city he best liked to go and the man had asked to visit the nearest state park. They’d walked a lovely flat trail for hours, Duck eagerly identifying and talking about the different plants and creatures they saw. This was how Indrid learned Duck had gone to school for wildlife biology, had taken up escorting to cover a mounting debt that he was still digging himself out of. They’d eaten dinner at a picnic table, Indrid warmed by the late afternoon sun and the happiness radiating from his companion.

Perhaps it was the time he’d set aside a whole day for him and Duck to try something new, something they were both interested in. He’d kept the man tied to the bed, edged him for an hour, whispered filthy praise to him the whole time, taken him twice before finally letting him come. And then he’d spent the rest of the evening on aftercare, cooing and fussing over Duck. He’d never tried anything of that kind with partners on earth before.

The second shift, the shift Indrid is currently angling for the conclusion of, was that his feelings for Duck were growing stronger. There were two incidents that Indrid saw, in retrospect, were the catalysts.

First had been a night, several months ago, where he’d woken up in a fit of terror from what he knew was a bad future making itself known. He didn’t know where he was, when he was, what had happened and what still could. It was a miracle his glasses didn’t come off in the flurry.

“Darlin, it’s alright, I got you.” Warm hands clasped one of his own and as he came down from the terror, reoriented himself in time he found his head resting on Ducks chest, heartbeat steady and reassuring. Woke up to find Duck had made breakfast (which in this case meant toast and coffee for him and poptarts for Indrid), and the man spent the better part of the day with him, simply keeping him company.

Then there had been another night, where Duck had called him, panicked and afraid for reasons that came out garbled but it didn’t matter because he was in distress and that was reason enough for Indrid to drive across town. He’d found Duck in his room on the top floor of a house he shared with a few friends. He’d been curled up and shaking on the floor and Indrid had carefully guided him to bed, soothed and petted and listened until Duck was exhausted enough to sleep. Indrid was tempted to slip his glasses off and cuddle Duck to him in his Sylph form, shield him from the world with his wings. But it didn’t take foresight to know that wouldn’t have gone well.

The next morning Duck had rolled over in the small bed, nuzzling Indrids cheek as he asked if he wanted to go to breakfast. Duck took him to a diner around the corner, insisted on paying, before quietly asking if Indrid had anywhere he needed to be that day. Indrid shook his head. Which is how they ended up cuddled on the floor of Ducks room watching movies on his computer, and at some point kisses on the cheek became kisses on the lips and then Indrid was in Ducks lap, grinding and purring as Duck fucked him.

It was Ducks willingness to spend whole days, sometimes multiple days in a row, with him that had made Indrid first consider the offer he was going to make. It worried him that if Duck spent too much time with him he’d have little left for other clients and not be able to make ends meet, and Indrid would hate to be the cause of that. But when he thought about going back to only seeing Duck for an hour or two each week his heart clenched so tightly in his chest he had to sit down.

And so, he decided to force the moment to its crisis.

——————————–

He sees from the futures that Duck lets himself in to the house, so he’s not surprised when there’s a low whistle from behind him as he adjusts his tie in the mirror.

“Damn, you clean up pretty nice, sugar. Didn’t think you even owned a tie.”

“I own exactly one. And believe me, if they ever invent pajama pants that can be worn as formal wear, I shall burn my remaining slacks.” He turns with a smile, finds Duck leaning against the door of the bedroom, openly admiring him. His shirt is dark green and well fitting, his pants accentuating his assets, and Indrid has to remind himself that they have a reservation to keep and that he can’t bend him over the nearest flat surface without making them late.

“Stay with me, darlin, you’re gettin that far off look.” Duck grins, crossing to him and wrapping his arms around his waist.

“Sorry, merely thinking about how good you look.”

Duck blushes, a sight Indrid will never tire of.

“So we’re goin out to the fanciest place in town just because, huh?”

“I don’t need an occasion to take you somewhere nice, do I?”

“Nah,” Duck rests his head on Indrids shoulder, “but do you want one?”

Indrid sees what’s coming , but nods anyway because he wants to see Ducks face light up as he says-

“I got the job, Indrid. I’m gonna be a park ranger.”

“Oh my sweet, that’s wonderful!” He kisses Duck, bumps their noses together as he says, “I hope they know how lucky they are to have hired you.”

“Just hope they like me enough to bump me from part-time to full eventually.”

“I haven’t a doubt they will. I’m so happy for you, sweetheart.”

Duck hugs him tighter, smiling into his shoulder before he breaks away.

“C’mon, darlin, let’s go celebrate.”

———————————-

One of the reasons Indrid chose this restaurant is that it has private dining booths, with a light to signal to the staff when the occupants do (or do not) need to be disturbed. He’d wanted somewhere safe from prying ears to ask Duck what he plans to.

Duck seems to have some ideas for how to exploit that privacy as well, if the look he gives Indrid as he scoots next to him is anything to go by.

“Dessert?”

“Of course, I can smell caramelized sugar from the kitchen and it’s driving me wild.”

“Would,’t want to deprive you of sugar, sugar.” Duck trails a finger along Indrids thigh, “but I had somethin else in mind before that.”

Indrid bites back a moan as a new future makes itself known.

“What did you ha-OH, ohhhhmph.” Indrid shoves his napkin against his mouth as Duck drops to his knees under the table, unzips his pants, and palms at him.

“Want me to suck your dick?”

“What ahHahh kind of question is that?” Indrid wiggles his hips and Duck snickers, reaches into his jacket pocket and produces a condom.

“Just checkin.” He frees Indrids cock and rolls the condom down before licking a stripe up it. He takes the head in his mouth and sucks. Indrid shoves the napkin against his mouth, but he’s not fast enough to stifle a chirp.

“You make such fuckin cute sounds sometimes.” Duck says with a smirk before returning to his previous activity and Indrid manages to keep it together until Duck moans, the sensation of that on his cock making him bang his knee against the table.

“You doin okay up there?” Duck licks his lips.

“Yes, very okay, please, please sweetheart.” He whispers, one hand in Ducks hair as he hungrily runs his tongue across the tip as his hand works the shaft, “I’m so, oh goodness, Duck, yes yes.” He cums with a muffled moan that dies out into a soft chirp. Duck tidies him up, joins him back in the circular booth and cuddles up next to him.

“Always wanted to try that.”

“Glad to be of assistance.” Indrid kisses his cheek, flips the light so the waiter knows they’re ready to order.

It’s only after they’ve finished dessert that Indrid takes Ducks hand (and a deep breath).

“Duck there’s something I want to ask you.”

“Yeah?” Ducks eyes shine expectantly. Indrid draws his mind away from any futures, focuses only on the present.

“I sense that I am your favorite, well, client. I want to know how much it would cost to become your only client.”

Duck blinks at him for a moment. And then his face falls, and he drops his gaze into his lap, unlacing their fingers as he does.

“I uh, I’ll. I’ll need to uh, to think. About that.”

His comments stay that stilted while they pay and leave, and as they drive back he focuses his eyes out the window. This tells Indrid two things: whatever Duck is feeling, he’s terrified of saying and so he’s avoiding saying anything at all. And, more importantly, Indrid has royally screwed up.

Once they’re inside Duck heads into the kitchen, grabs a glass for water but can’t hold it steady enough given how his hands are shaking.

“Duck, please tell me what’s wrong.”

“N-nope. I ain’t gonna say anythin because what I want to say is awful foolish in hindsight.”

“I don’t care. Please say it anyway?”

Duck rests his hands on the counter.

“I, I thought, when you said you wanted to ask me somethin that you were gonna ask…” He looks up and Indrid can see the tears, “I thought you were gonna ask me to be your boyfriend, tell me you didn’t want to bother with the client stuff anymore.”

Oh. Oh dear.

“I didn’t realize that was an option.”

“What?”

“I assumed your affection towards me was still, on some level, part of a professional exchange. I didn’t dare assume you actually-”

“Liked you? Jesus, Indrid, do you think I’m that good at fakin shit? I’ve been fallin for you for the better part of three months and that’s like rookie fuck-up number one in this line of work but I couldn’t stand the idea of not seein you again and I thought maybe you felt the same way and, and, fuck, Indrid, half the stuff we’ve done when we fucked is stuff I don’t do with other clients because I trust you in a way I don’t trust them and I, I, fuck.” He sinks down behind the counter and Indrid hurries to the other side of it to find him sitting, defeated, on the floor with his head in his hands.

Indrid carefully sits down in front of him.

“Duck, look at me. Please.”

Duck meets his eyes.

“We want the same thing, my sweet. I was simply too afraid to consider that option, and I didn’t mean for that to hurt you and for that I am sorry.”

That glimmer of hope returns to Ducks eyes.

“I would like to be your boyfriend, Duck Newton, if you would like to be mine.”

“I would, darlin, so fuckin much.”

Indrid surges forward and kisses him, Duck laughing against his lips. By the time they make it off the floor and into the bedroom they’re each half-dressed. Duck’s still laughing intermittently, glee radiating from his body as Indrid pushes him backwards and crawls on top of him.

“Mine” Indrid growls, pinning his shoulders down. Something flashes across the younger mans face and he worries that was too far.

“Yeah, darlin, all yours.” Duck drags a kiss up Indrids neck, voice thick with desire.

“Do you like that, my sweet? The idea that you are mine and mine alone?”

“Uh huh, god, sugar, so much.”

Indrid begins methodically kissing his way down Ducks chest and stomach, yanks down his boxers so he can kiss and lick at his thighs.

“And what shall I do with you, since you’re all mine?”

“Bite me.” Duck pleads and Indrid raises his head to look at him in surprise. They usually have to avoid that activity even though they both enjoy it, as some of Ducks clients won’t tolerate any sign that he’s been with someone else.

“Pleeease” Duck whimpers and Indrid growls again, sinks his teeth into Ducks thigh. Does it again and again until his left thigh is coated in hickeys and bite marks. Switches to the right thigh, occasionally gliding up to nip at his soft belly. By the time he’s finished Duck is tugging at his hair, moaning and pleading with hips thrusting in the air

“Kisses, want, Indrid.”

Indrid clambers back up him and kisses him ferociously, pulls back to run his tongue along Ducks swollen, perfect lips.

“Shall I tie you up, my sweet, so you can be utterly at my mercy?”

Duck nods frantically and Indrid rolls off the bed, grabbing his preferred pair of handcuffs. Ducks hands are already above his head, next to the headboard, by the time Indrid returns.

“So good for me, my sweet Duck.” He cuffs him to the headboard, tilts his chin up with his finger so their eyes meet.

“Indrid…” There’s no direction of the sigh, it’s simply a sound of pleasure.

“I’m going to coat your skin in marks now, and when you’re a screaming, begging mess, I’m going to ride you until I come on that lovely skin because you are mine.” He drops his head down to Ducks neck and sucks a bruise there, threading his fingers into that dark hair so he can pull his head back for better access.

“Darlin, yesOHFUCK, fuckAHnnnn.”

“I do so love the sound of your voice.”

Duck makes a noise that may have been a word at some point. Indrid sets about placing hickeys across his collar bone, his chest, his neck and after about ten minutes the man beneath him is a mess. When Indrid finally rolls down the condom he groans in thanks, cants his hips up and nudges at Indrids entrance with the head of his cock.

“Patience.”

“I’m bein patient” Another nudge, accompanied by a teasing smile. Indrid toys with making him wait longer for that, but he’s so wound up himself that he decides against it, begins carefully working the cock into him (he’s still somewhat prepared from the solo session he had before Duck arrived). When its fully seat he takes a moment to breath, runs his hands across the expanse of Ducks chest.

“So handsome. And all mine.”

“Damn right. You gonna do anythin about it or OHShiiit, oh fucknevermind.” Duck gasps as Indrid shifts up and down, moans spilling from his throat at the feeling of Duck inside him. Duck can only move his hips so much and so Indrid controls the pace, slow at first and then gaining speed and roughness.

“That’s it my sweet, that’s it, let me use this perfect cock until I can’t. Fucking.see.” He moves sharply on those last three words and Duck cries out. Indrid drops forward, swallowing the noises and letting his cock rut between their stomachs and then he comes, teeth biting at Ducks lip.

“‘M so close, darlin, pleaseplease.”

“Shhh, don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.” He grinds down, works his hips with no small amount of effort even as he body goes oversensitive but Duck’s been so good and he wants to see him come, wants to tear every delicious sound from that throat as he rides him.

“Fuckohfuck, Indrid, Indrid yes.” He cums with a choked sound and Indrid waits until the last tremors pass through him to climb off. He undoes the cuffs, settles in the crook of Ducks arm.

“Jesus, that was, uh, y’know.” Duck pants, arm wrapping around Indrids shoulder.

“Not quite, but I can guess.”

“Smartass.” Duck kisses him, fondly, before looking at the state of his legs, “damn, did a number on me.”

“You did ask.”

“That I did. I’m probably gonna stop doin the escortin thing once I start at the park. Mostly scared word’d get out and I’d get fired. Might pick up some shifts at the co-op that buddy of yours owns, since he said I oughta apply if I needed to.”

“Barclay’s excellent to work for, I’m told.”

“Yeah. Hopefully it’ll be enough to manage the debt and shit.”

Indrid hums, thoughtfully. He’d offer to pay it off for Duck, but he’s done that once before and Duck had seemed deeply uncomfortable with the idea. But there are other ways. Such as the two men who had been hired to steal and destroy a few filing cabinets worth of debt records along with their digital copies, enough on either side of Ducks name for him not to become the target of suspicion.

But Indrid doesn’t dwell on that thought now, instead nestles close to his boyfriend as he animatedly talks about his new job and eventually falls asleep, dreaming of all the tomorrows stretched out before them.


	4. Troublemaker (Indruck)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was screwing around with a prompt generator and it gave me "bad boy plus locker room." I then used this idea to bribe one of the Indruck discords into going a day without mentioning vore. 
> 
> This is the result. 
> 
> CW: I made Indrid an emancipated minor, with the implication that he did so to escape an unsafe home. That's all the detail we get. Likewise, Duck's transness is mentioned as being a source of gossip, but no transphobic remarks or words are used. 
> 
> FYI: This is a high school AU, but both characters are 18.

It had all been going so well.

Kepler High, the latest and hopefully last in the long line of high schools he’s been at, hadn’t seemed like much. It was school number eight for Indrid. Two he’d had to leave for the same reasons he’d had to become an emancipated minor. Five he’d been forced out of because he was always in the wrong place at the wrong time. And because he was strange, and gay, and already had a reputation as a troublemaker, it was all too easy to expel him. Kepler High had been a last resort. But oh, it contained the best person in the world. 

Duck Newton. With his blue hair and crooked smile, a bit scruffy, very burnt out. Black jeans that make his ass look amazing, a beat-up jacket that looks like it was, once upon a time, a rangers. 

Indrid had been warned away from him by a well meaning student in his English class. Turns out Duck, like Indrid, was a "bad kid" and worse influence. Indrid, while smitten by his looks from day one, didn’t really feel like getting expelled again. So he’d given him a wide berth until the day they were assigned as lab partners. 

“Do you want to measure, or take the notes?”

“Was gonna say didn’t give a shit, but lookin' at your handwritin…” He holds out his hand and Indrid gives him a pen. 

“You didn’t bring your own?”

“You ever see me takin' notes?”

“Fair point.”

Indrid reads the instructions, prepares their equipment.

“You’re new in town. Your folks move here for work or somethin'?”

“I moved myself here, and before you ask, no they’re not dead I was just safer free of them. I was in Point Pleasant last.”

He braces himself for the quip about Mothman that usually follows that detail.

“That must’ve been real tough. Havin’ to strike out on your own, I mean.”

“It has it’s pluses and minuses.” He glances up from the instructions to see Duck looking at him softly. Almost like he’s worried about him. 

“You, uh, you settlin' into town okay? No one givin' you any trouble?”

“No. Why?”

“Just checkin'. Us, uh ‘troublemakers’” here he taps the rainbow flag sticker on the inside of Indrids' notebook, “gotta look out for each other.”

Indrid smiles, “Thank you.”

The next day he expects to be on his own for the lab, as Ducks school attendance habits are spotty at best. Instead, he’s already seated at their station, smiling as Indrid approaches. They set up quietly and then Duck touches his shoulder.

“Hey, uh, if you want you could come have lunch with me and a couple friends of mine. Saw you by yourself yesterday and, uh, didn’t wanna bother you in case you’re the kinda fella who likes his space.”

“I’d be happy to.”

Duck gives him a full-on grin, and when class ends carefully ushers out behind the school . And then into the nearby woods.

“You realize we’re not supposed to leave campus.”

“We can still see it, hear all the bells and shit. Border of it’s just arbitrary.”

“I’ll have you know, Duck Newton, that you are the only person I would break such rules for.”

Duck looks at him oddly, then thumps him playfully on the shoulder, “whatever you say, ‘Drid.”

In the weeks that follow, Indrid integrates easily into Ducks social circle; sure, they’re dirtbags, burnouts, what have you, but they’re nice, they don’t tease Indrid for his quirks or his identity. Really, most of them cut school so often because it’s not a pleasant place for them. For instance, Indrid quickly learns that if students have to be shushed for crudely discussing the top surgery Duck got over the summer, this is treated as Ducks fault by the teachers and administrators rather than the fault of the gossipers.

Indrid also develops a sense that Duck has tasked himself with looking out for him. He did, after all, tell Indrid that Tarkesians' General Store needed a third stock boy (himself and Leo, the owners son, being the other two), meaning Indrid no longer had to work the graveyard shift at a local 24 hour coffee stand. If Indrid’s lunches are meager for too many days in a row, Duck will coincidentally end up with more than he can eat at lunch the next day (“mom’s tryin' to offload leftovers on me again. Here, ‘Drid, you take ‘em.”

This does nothing to ease Indrids' crush on him in the least.

“Hey, you need a space heater for the ‘Bago?”

“Why?”

“Found this when I was helpin my sister get out the Hallowe-no, the uh, fuck, the”

“Duck.”

“I went lookin' for it because you said the heat in your trailer wasn’t workin' too well.”

Indrid takes the small appliance, and Duck overlaps their hands for a moment before he says, “tide you over until I can sneak away and keep you warm.”

He’s late to his next class because the images that comment brings to mind necessitate some moments alone in a bathroom. 

And then there was the day with the note.

“Duck, is my smile unpleasant?”

“No. Why?” 

Indrid slides the note across the lab table: A crudely drawn picture of him, with the words “beware the smiling man” written on it. Duck takes one look at it, then turns on the bunsen burner. Indrid watches with a strange kind of pleasure as Duck lights the paper on fire. He’s transfixed until,

“Mr. Newton, would you kindly not burn the lab down?” Mr. Stern looks more amused than angry. 

Even with the paper gone, Indrid feels like shit all throughout class. He and Duck are on their way to lunch when Duck pauses, grabs Indrid by the shoulder so he stops and looks at him.

“You really wanna know what I think about your smile?”

Indrid nods and then Duck closes the distance between them and kisses him. It’s chaste, hesitant, but more than enough to make Indrid grin wide as they pull apart. 

“Just like I thought” Duck strokes his cheek, eyes fixed on his face, “it’s the most amazin' fuckin' thing I’ve ever seen.

Indrid spent the rest of the day planning ways to reciprocate and build upon that kiss, ways to work up the courage to ask Duck if this meant they were dating. 

It’d all been going so well.

Then he’d been called into the office, reprimanded for inappropriate PDA (how had anyone even seen them? They’d though they were alone). Told that they knew his history and that if he wasn’t careful there could be consequences. And that Duck Newton was already on thin ice as it was. 

It was that last threat that truly weighed on him. So, instead of meeting Duck after school, he stood him up. He’s stood him up every day since, which has been the longest two weeks of his life. They see each other at work, and in class, but after Ducks first few attempts to ask what was wrong were met with Indrid's apparently-convincing lies, he simply backed off and gave him his space. 

He’s miserable. Which is why he’s sitting in the empty boys locker room during last period, sketching. He’s technically in study hall, but the teacher never pays much attention to how long people are gone on "bathroom breaks." It’s quiet here, which means he can sniffle in peace. 

“Please just tell me how I fucked up?” Ducks voice echoes in spite of how soft it is. 

Indrid sighs, puts the sketchbook down as Duck steps down the row of lockers to stand in front of him. 

“You don’t gotta say if you really don’t wanna, but I thought, well, you kissed me back and seemed like you liked me and now you won’t say two words to me.”

“I got called into the office that afternoon.”

“Are you about to fuckin' tell me you let them scare you off bein' with me by sayin' some shit about how I’m no good.”

“No!” Indrid leaps up, “I don’t care about that but they said you’d already gotten in trouble many times and that it’d only take a few more for them to expel you and Duck I am a disaster magnet. I get blamed for things I don’t cause and if we’re together you might be there for one of them and-”

Duck pulls him gently into a hug and Indrids head drops to his shoulder as he wraps his arms around his waist.

“‘Drid, I get what you’re tryin' to do, but I’d rather you not break my heart out of some weird notion about protectin' me. If somethin' happens, it happens, and we’ll deal with it when it does. I wanna be with you, no matter what kind of weird shit that brings.”

“You mean that?” He whispers.

“Darlin', you know I can’t lie for shit.”

Indrid straightens with a smile and a small laugh.

“What’s so funny?” He kisses Indrids' collar bone through his shirt. 

“You called me darling.

“Don’t like it?”

“On the contrary. It displays quite a bit of southern charm.” The kisses are on his neck now, firmer, more insistent and he shivers. 

“And here I thought you went for bad boys.” Duck teases, inching them backwards

“Duck, I have seen you rescue cats from trees on two separate occasions. You are the opposite of bad ohmy!” His back connects with the lockers at the same instant Duck growls against his skin. Duck looks at him, curious, then gently but forcefully presses him back against the cool metal. Indrid inhales sharply, tightens his grip on Duck.

“You like that, darlin'? Like getting roughed up in the locker room by a bad boy.”

“I literally just said you’re not baAAhhhhd, oh, oh I see.” Indrid pants as Duck sucks a hickey onto his neck, one hand pinning him in place, the other snaking down between them, “yes, I, I do like it.”

“In that case,” he palms Indrid roughly through his sweatpants, “lemme show you how bad I can be.” He drops to his knees, curls his fingers into the waistband of Indrids' pants. 

“Duck, wait, do you have, that is-”

“I got tested last time we all went to the city. Ain’t been with anyone since. You?”

“More or less the same.”

Duck flashes him a grin and then his pants and boxers are around his ankles, an eager tongue licking a determined stripe up his shaft and he claps a hand over his mouth. 

“I been thinkin' about that for months.”

“L-likewise, please, please do it again.”

Duck does one better, takes the first few inches of his cock in his mouth and Indrid moans as wet, warm sensations overwhelm his system. He brings a hand down to stroke Ducks hair, lets the other one twine into Ducks own where it braces on his thigh. 

“So good, that’s so good, oh sweetheart if feels so ni-ouch!” He yelpmoans, looks down to find Ducks teeth and lips making bruise on his hip. Without fully understanding why, he pulls Ducks hair once, quickly, and he gives a startled groan against his skin. 

“That, however, was not very nice. Not nice at all.” His voice comes out in low, serious tone and he just catches the challenge in Ducks gaze before his teeth find his skin again. He allows himself a moment to enjoy the mixture of pain and pleasure before yanking on his hair once more. 

“ _Now_ you are being bad. I wonder what we’re going to do about that. I could pull my pants up and leave, perhaps.” It’s a bluff, they both know it, but arousal surges through Indrids body when Duck whimpers at the threat and presses careful kisses to the bruise, seemingly in apology. 

“You know, Duck, I’m starting to think it’s not me who gets off on the idea of you being bad, but you.”

Duck freezes, looks up at Indrid with something like surprise. 

“I think you like the idea of being exactly as bad and difficult as people say you are until someone reigns you in. Makes you behave. Gives you permission to be the good boy you are deep down.”

Slowly, eyes wide, Duck nods, “Only if it’s you.”

Indrids heart does a series of acrobatics at the idea that Duck trusts him as much as he wants him. 

“It can be. In fact I like the sound of that very much.”

Suddenly Duck is on his feet, desperately kissing along Indrids face as his fingers wrap around his cock. Indrid tangles both hands in his hair, nips and sucks at Ducks lips before slipping his tongue between them. Ducks hips wiggle ineffectively in the air, searching for friction, finally find it against Indrids leg and oh, oh yes, he likes that, the feeling of Duck warm and needy against him. 

He doesn’t mean to come so quickly, swallowing up the string of encouragement as it leaves Ducks lips. But it hits him without warning and he coats Ducks hand. 

“ _Jesus_ , ‘Drid.” Duck is smiling at him, as if he’d done him a favor. 

“Let me, I want to” he tugs at Ducks belt, “want to reciprocate.”

“How?”

Indrid cocks his head, thinking.

“Lay on that bench for me. Wait, let me put this down first.” He pulls off his sweatshirt and spreads it on the bench. Duck sits on it, works his pants and underwear down to his ankles.

Indrid kneels before him, his own pants still tangled around his calves, kisses his knee because it’s there and he can, before turning his attention elsewhere. 

“I thought I told you to lay down.” He murmurs, teeth grazing Ducks thigh.

“I wanna watch you, if that’s alright. Like beein' able to see you.”

“Well, since you’re put it so sweetly.” A drag of his tongue across Ducks clit results in a hand in his hair and Duck hissing with pleasure. 

“Shit, oh ‘Drid please do that again.”

Indrid’s more than happy to oblige, the small jerks of Ducks hips, the feeling of him wet and wanting dispelling the last of the worry that comes with having no clue how to do this right. He’d read once that you were supposed to try drawing the letters of the alphabet. Seems a good enough starting place, though he repeats (and makes a mental note of) the ones that make Duck whimper loudest or grip his head tighter. 

“More” Ducks hand scrapes against the bench as he braces himself, “I want you inside me, fuck, darlin', want it so bad.”

“Tongue’s not that long, sweetheart.”

“Use somethin' else then” Duck half growl, half pleads. 

“Ask politely.”

“Why, ‘M a bad boy remember? Ohhhhhhhhfuck.” His head drops backwards as Indrid sucks a bruise into his belly. He only relents when Ducks toes curl intensely enough that his feet leave the floor. He kisses his hips, runs one finger just below his clit, pulls it back as soon as Duck tries to press down. 

“I’ll only fuck you like that if you promise to be good.”

“Okay, okay, I promise.” Duck whines, pulls at Indrids hair but merely gets a kiss on the wrist in response.

“I want to hear you say it.”

“I’ll be good.” Even at a whisper, the words drip with want. 

“Yes, you will.” One finger slips in, moves easily from how turned on he already is, “Because you _are_ good, Duck, so very” another finger, “very” a third, “good.” He dips his head down to suck greedily at Ducks clit as he works him hard with his hand. 

“FUCK.”

Indrid hums smugly as Duck gives up on being any type of upright and flops all the way back onto the bench, hands holding Indrids head like might die if he lets go. 

“Right there, oh _shit_ ‘Drid like that, I’m so close darlin please.” The words die out into gasps and he feels Duck tense, pulls his hands out but keeps sucking him off until his orgasm has died down. 

Indrid sits back on his heels, pleased with himself as Duck sits up looking a bit dazed. He leans forward and Indrid meets him halfway, kissing him fondly and running his hands along his legs. 

“It’s only cause I’m fuckin' exhausted that I’m not beggin' you for round two.” Duck says between kisses. 

“Indeed. While the idea of fucking you senseless has it’s appeal, right now I really want to um” he blushes, “cuddle.”

“Think I can manage that.”

BRRRRRRIIIIIIIING

“You gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me” Both their heads whip to look at the clock; 2:55, AKA the shower bell for last period. Duck continues cursing as he pulls his pants back on. Cuddling will have to wait. 

“The trailer, tonight, nine, please say you’ll come.”

“Course I will darlin'.” Duck gives him the quickest of kisses before hauling ass out of the locker room. 

Indrid sighs, watches him go. And just barely remembers to tug his pants back up before anyone else arrives in the room.


	5. Changing Sides (Sternclay)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A reader requested the following from a "problems for a super villain who's in love with the hero" AU list: "It’s our one year anniversary fuck how does one celebrate an anniversary of rivalry and one-sided devotion?"

Joseph Stern, alias Agent M, has accomplished what no other member of the National Hero Control Task Force has been able to: he has captured a member of the elusive Pine Guard.

The guard has been causing chaos for the better part of two years, bringing important projects such as oil pipeline development, ICE facilities, and start-up construction to catastrophic halts. 

Stern isn’t invested in those projects, but he believes in the greater good, in law and order. 

One member of the guard in particular has caught and held his attention since he first laid eyes on him. Bigfoot, or so he’s called, has eluded most of their security tapes in a way his compatriots haven’t, and has been reported as more than once saving civilians and bystanders from danger.

He also once stayed behind to ensure Stern stayed conscious after sustaining a head injury. Stern has never been able to get an explanation as to why. But after that day, puzzling out Bigfoot’s motives, his past, his personality has become Sterns true goal. 

Convenient, then, that the man is currently strapped, standing up, to a holding table in his base.

“I knew word of those files would get your attention.” He stands toe to toe with Bigfoot, who growls but says nothing.

“There’s no call for that. Besides, even if you’d managed to infiltrate here without alerting me, there wouldn’t have been anything to steal. All the information on the identity of the pine guard members is up here. I haven’t shared it with my superiors yet.” He taps his head.

“So, you’re bluffing.”

“Not at all. Barclay.” 

Dark brown eyes go wide with concern. 

“Okay, so you got me. That doesn’t mean you got the rest of us.”

Stern sighs, counts off on his fingers, “Mothman is Indrid Cold, Jackalope is Aubrey Little, Cactus Cat is Dani Coolice, Champ is Duck Newton, Hodag is Ned Chicane, Jersey Devil is Arlo Thacker, and Echidna is Madeline Cobb.”

Barclay sags in his restraints. 

“What do I have to do to keep them safe?”

“Nothing. You’re eco-terrorists, Barclay. Even if I wanted to I can’t keep the information I gained secret from my superiors.”

“You could. Like, literally. Just don’t tell them.”

“I can’t do that. I’m sorry.” The apology doesn’t come out as hollow as he needs it to, and Barclay arches an eyebrow.

“Ahem, anyway, you won’t be needing this anymore.” He lifts off Barclays blue mask (one that compliments his coppery beard), not surprised at all by the face underneath yet delighted at seeing it. He’s thought it handsome since the first time he laid eyes on it

The spell is broken by Barclay biting his hand. He yelps, dropping the mask on the floor. 

“That wasn’t necessary.”

“Neither was unmasking me. Jesus, you never struck me as some gloaty douche but obviously I was wrong.”

That stings, and so Stern turns on his heel with a flourish. 

“Careful, or I won’t share dinner with you.”

“Oh no, no gruel or power bars or whatever you joyless fucks eat for me–do you smell saffron?”

“Yes.” Stern wheels out the small cart, covered platter glistening atop it and a vase that’s too small for the bouquet sitting in it trying valiantly not to tip over. “I made us saffron rice with lamb, and red wine dark chocolate cupcakes.” He removes the cover, feeling rather smug.

“Shit that looks good.” Barclay whispers, licking his lips. Then he looks up, “Wait, made us?”

Oh lord, the confusion on Barclay’s face sends pangs through his chest. What he wouldn’t give to kiss it away. 

“I, well, it has been exactly a year since we met. And I was trying to think of ways to mark the date, and I know you like cooking and food and so this seemed like a good gift.”

“…Did you make us a fucking anniversary dinner?”

“Technically? Yes.”

“Alright, Mister special agent, how am I supposed to eat it when I’m strapped to a fucking table?”

“I could, um, feed it to you? I shut off the cameras in this room so that I could do so without embarrassing either of us.”

“This what you do every Friday, strap random guys down and feed them? Sounds pretty kinky.” Barclay smirks. 

“I enjoy being helpful, something a so-called ‘hero’ should understand. And I didn’t choose a random guy; I strapped you, specifically, down.”

Barclay fixes him with an amused look before shrugging as much as his bonds allow, “Fine, you clearly worked hard on dinner. May as well make the most of it.”

Stern slices a chunk of lamb, offers it to Barclay who parts his lips without hesitation.

“Holy shit, that’s good.” The blissed out look on his face is one of Sterns favorite views in the world. He hates having to pretend like he hasn’t seen it before. 

As he cuts another piece Barclay asks, “You make the bouquet too?”

“Yes. I took some classes on flower language and arranging a few years back, and I like doing it.”

Another bite, and this Barclay sighs happily before cocking his head, “You just not gonna eat?”

“Guests eat first.”

“I’m a hostage, agent, not a guest.”

“My point stands.”

“Y’know, if you just undid my hands, we could eat at the same time. Make it a real anniversary dinner instead of some repressed man in black feeding me my last meal as a free man.”

“I’m not just any man in black, I’m your main rival. You said so yourself, once. And the answer is no to the unlocking.”

“Well, there goes that option.” 

Stern sees him tug the strings of his woven bracelet a moment too late. He braces for an explosion or a weapon flying at him. 

Instead, reality warps for a nanosecond, and then Barclay isn’t in front of him anymore. Staring down at him is what he can only describe as a Bigfoot. And honest to god, fur-covered, claw-handed Bigfoot.

A Bigfoot that is no longer restrained. 

“You’re, you’re really-”

“Yep.” Barclay lunges, but instead of grabbing Stern he reaches for the cutlery, tossing it up and over the rooms computer center and far out of range.

Then he grabs Stern by the back of his neck, slamming him against the restraint table. Stern retaliates, jumping up and landing his feet against Barclay’s chest. There’s an “oof” but nothing else. Stern tries to catch him with his stunner, but Barclay avoids him easily, twisting his hands behind his back and letting go as he launches Stern into the window. Mercifully it’s made of bullet-proof, triple strength glass, so he doesn’t plummet fifty stories to his death.

He’s simply pinned by his nemesis, the city lights thousands of eyes watching his defeat.

“Are you, ow, all monsters?”

“Nope, just some of us. And you’ve put me in a real bad situation, agent.” Barclay growls in his ear, “first by blabbing that you, and only you really did know our secret identities, and then leaving me no choice but to take off my disguise.”

“I, I’m sorry your poor problem solving skills caused you to reveal that Bigfoot is not merely a codenameOW.” Barclays claws pierce his suit, “Go ahead and kill me. I won’t give up any information to the Pine Guard. I’m prepared to die in the service of my agency.”

“You sure about that?”

“Yes.” He lies

“Nothing you’d miss?”

“No.” 

A rumbling purr in his ear this time, “Not even me?”

“N-no, what, where on earth would you get that idea?”

“Flowers gave you away. Red carnations are admiration, daffodils mean unrequited love, and orange roses are fascination.” 

“That’s a coincidence.” He grits his teeth to prevent the truth spilling out. 

“Not for a guy who admitted he knew their meanings. And you know what else?” He clips Stern’s hands behind his back in cuffs designed to hold the super-strength of Duck Newton, making escape impossible for Sterns normal-human abilities “you put some wild grasses in their to fill the whole thing out.”

“So?”

“Grass means submission. You put all your feelings for me in a vase and gave me plenty of time to take them in, probably thinking it a clever in-joke to yourself. But that one? I’m betting that one was accidental, subconscious. You want to submit. Whether that’s in general or to me I have no clue.”

“Just you.” He may as well confess it. One less secret to carry to his grave.

A low, dangerous chuckle fills the room as he’s spun away from the window and shoved to his knees.

“That what you want, agent?” Barclay replaces the bracelet, becoming human before his eyes, “Want to be a good boy for me?”

He nods, cheeks hot and gaze locked on the floor until Barclay yanks it up by his hair, tearing strands loose from their carefully gelled hold. 

“Aw now, no need for that.” Barclay traces the path of the blush with his thumb, voice mockingly sweet, “know your overlords like everyone to be emotionless, but there’s nothing wrong with wanting a good fuck, even if half the city can probably see it from here.”

“Oh lord.” He moans, the image sending his thoughts, his dignity, his blood, south.

Another laugh, his head yanked sideways to take in the view, “Damn, you like that too, huh? Like the idea of everyone watching while one of America’s finest begs me to fuck his face. Your superiors finding out their best agent is so needy he’d do anything for me to touch him?”

The tears pricking his eyes are from want, not shame, when he chokes out, “yes.”

Barclay turns his head forward, then up. 

“Please, Barclay, _please_.”

“Please fuck you?”

“Yes.” He whimpers.

“Nope. Sorry, agent, I don’t sleep with the enemy, even if he gives me the worlds bluest puppy dog eyes. Not to mention, threatening the people I love is the opposite of being a good boy. But since it’s our anniversary, I think you do owe me a gift.” His fingers touch the edge of Sterns mask, “let’s see who’s been tracking me for a year.”

“Wait, don’t-” The mask tears off. The two men stare at each other, frozen, one in surprise and the other in fear.

“Joseph?” 

“Hello.” He wants to look away, to see literally anything other than the betrayal on Barclay’s face.

“I, uh, I imagine this will lose me the title of ‘favorite customer’ at the Coffee Lodge.”

“You, you’ve been _spying_ on us. You’ve been at the Lodge almost every fucking day since June, and you’re Agent fucking M, I, I can’t-” Barclay paces, fingers running through his hair, “Did you start coming just to stake us out?”

“Yes. I tracked your movements, Barclay. I’m ashamed to say I accessed the medical records of anyone in the target area who had top surgery to narrow down my suspects, and eventually identified you as Bigfoot. Once I started getting coffee at the lodge everyday it was easy to piece together who else was on the team.”

“Yeah, and flirting with me probably helped a lot.”

“Uhhhhhhhhm.” 

“Oh, come on, don’t try to pretend that wasn’t part of your investigation.”

“It isn’t. Wasn’t.” He lowers his head meekly. 

Barclay stops moving, sighs heavily, “Is there anywhere in this damn place that’s smaller and doesn’t have cameras?”

“My bedroom only has one. Just take down the smoke detector on the right hand side as soon as we go in.”

Barclay easily lifts him over his shoulder and trudges down the hall and into the bedroom. Rips the “smoke detector” from the wall, sparks crackling when he does. Then he deposits Stern on the bed and turns his desk chair to face it. 

“We’ve got about forty-five minutes before my ride gets here. Talk.” Barclay sits down, crosses his arms while Stern attempts to sit up straight.

“Wait, how can you know that?”

A mild smile, “You really think I’d walk into such an obvious trap without an escape plan?”

“No.” He mutters, dejected, “what do you want me to say, Barclay?”

“The truth, genius.”

“You seem to know most of it already.”

“Yeah, but one big piece is missing; why the hell didn’t you write down our identities somewhere the higher ups could find them if something happened to you? Shit, why not just sic a bunch of agents on us when we were all at the lodge making, or drinking, coffee?”

“I…I don’t know.”

“Bullshit.”

“Because the lodge was my haven too, alright?” Stern snaps, “I felt understood there, safer than I did in any secret base. And every time Dani laughed at something Aubrey did, or Duck told some corny joke, or you smiled at me, I understood more and more why you all do what you do. I felt my commitment to my work waning. I had to do something to reiterate my belief in it. This was that something.”

Barclay is silent for a moment, taking Stern in bit by bit.

“You want to leave the NHCTF, don’t you?” He leans forward in quiet shock. 

Stern nods, defeated, “I’ve been questioning our methods for some time, but always thought that what we did was in the service of keeping people safe. I’m still not fully convinced the Pine Guard is going about it the best way, but from what I’ve seen, you do a far better job of it than we do.”

“So join us. Help us figure out how to be even better.” Barclay reaches for him, takes his hand.

“You’d ask me to just like that?”

“Most of us like you, Joseph. We’re not super into Agent M, but it’s not like we haven’t noticed you’re not chasing us down as much as you used to. Also, I’d be a really crappy superhero if I didn’t at least try to recruit the smartest man I know to our side.”

Stern blushes more than necessary at the compliment. 

“Okay. I’m in. I’m ready to try being a different kind of good guy.”

“Welcome to the Pine Guard.” Barclay presses the secret hinges on the cuffs, and they drop to the floor. 

A fit of giggles in Sterns throat pours out into the space between them, “Jesus, I didn’t think betraying the government would feel so liberating.”

“Always knew you were a good guy, deep down.”

Another blush has him cursing his capillaries. 

“Heh, you do like it when I call you good.”

“Yes. Though as you observed, I have a weakness for humiliation as well.”

“Y’know, we’ve got a little bit of time still.” Barclay leans back, and Stern perks up when his hands hit his belt.

“And it is our anniversary.” Stern sinks to the floor, covers a few inches on his knees to rests his head on Barclays thigh.

“Shit, you really are a needy little thing.” Barclay shifts and wiggles awkwardly in order to get his close low enough to give Stern the access he needs. Stern nuzzles his inner thigh, skates his hands along muscular legs, making a mental note to discover what they feel like naked and tensing in time with their owners moans. 

“You’re rather, uhm, slick already. Is this where you tell me you got into heroics because you get off on fighting?”

“Nope, just on manhandling you. And you’re in no position to comment, _agent_.” The growl he puts into that last word has Stern melting forward. Which is helpful, in that Barclay shoves him down the rest of the way. He licks and sucks eagerly at him, moaning messily when Barclay tilts his hips up, pressing and rutting against him. 

“Like I, fuck, said babe, you’ve got no room to feel smuggAH–shit that felt good–amazed I didn’t walk in on you in the lodge bathroom with some dudes dick down your throat while another one fucked that tight ass.”

Stern would like to point out that a) he would never do such a thing in a business he respected and b) there’s only been one dick he’s wanted anywhere near him in months. But he doesn’t dare pull away. Instead he whimpers, shakes his head and takes all of Barclay’s cock into his mouth.

“Hnnnshit, maybe I got it wrong, maybe you, fuck, were one smile away from falling to you knees and begging me to fuck you over the counter.” 

Stern nods emphatically, pawing at any exposed skin he can find on Barclay stomach and hips, and the larger man laughs.

“Fuck, much as I wanna hold you down and come all over that handsome face, got something else I wanna do even more.” He lets go of Sterns head, nudges him back so he can join him on the floor. 

“Wha-ohshit’ He gasps when Barclay rips the front of his pants off, wrapping one large hand around his cock. But when Stern tries to thrust up into the warm, tight fist, Barclay pins his hips down with one hand. There’s such easy strength in the movements that Stern tilts his head back to rest on the spotless bedspread, because baring his throat feels like the only suitable response. 

Teeth just sharper than they ought to be sink into the base of his neck, but even as he arches and thrashes in response, he can’t get any stimulation on his cock. Coarse coppery hair tickles his skin as Barclay laughs, “Cute how you think that’s enough begging to get what you want.”

“Barclay, please, I, I’ve wanted this for months, it’s all I want, I will do anything.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Poor special agent, so desperate.” Barclay’s tone is cruel as he drags his hand up in one long, slow stroke. Stern eagerly awaits a downstroke that doesn’t come. 

“Well? Gimme one good reason to indulge my pathetic new plaything.”

“I, I, I’ll be good, so good for you, let you do whatever you want, fuck.” The barest movement of Barclays hand and he sobs, “please, I just want to be good, I just want you to use me, god, please just tell me what you want.” 

“Admit you’re a needy fucker who likes the fact the other cameras in this building can probably hear him begging me to-”

“I am, I need you so badly, I need this, I want you so much, I need youOHyes, _yes_.” He groans happily as Barclay switches to rapid strokes and drags one of Sterns hands between his legs. He keeps his fingers outside for the time being, focuses on circling his thumb and dragging the other digits in tight patterns.

“C’mon handsome, jack me off, show me how much you like your reward oh fuck, fuck, Joseph, that’s it babe, fuck that’s good.” His head drops to mouth at Stern’s neck with a moan as he grinds against Sterns palm, “shit, shoulda asked you out last week like I was planning to, coulda been doing this every night, yeah, ohyeah.” As he comes his grip on Sterns cock tightens, and even as he rides out his orgasm he’s growling, “come on agent, lemme see you ruin those fancy clothes.”

Stern comes with what sounds, to his ears, like a pathetic cry. Yet as soon as he spills onto his stomach and Barclays hand, the larger man kisses his chest, whispering sweetly, “You’re so good, did so good for me baby, you’re amazing.”

With unsure fingers, he brushes a strand of loose hair from Barclays cheek. Barclay looks up, smiling so tenderly Stern worries he’s dreaming. Then Barclay sits up, cupping his chin and drawing him into a gentle kiss, sighing happily when their lips meet. 

“Is it selfish to be happy that you joining the team means I get to see you everyday?”

“Not in the least. Though you see me most days at the coffee shop anyway.”

“Yeah, but now I get to do this” another kiss, somehow twice as tender as the first, “when I do.”

Stern curls into his arms as he continues, “guess we oughta get you a codename now.”

“You know, I’ve actually given that some thought. Given that only some of you drew your names from cryptids or, um, I suppose your true forms, I think there’s room for a codename that reflects my history with secretive government agencies while staying on theme?”

“I think so too.” Barclay smiles expectantly. 

“In that case,” Stern grins back, future brightening ahead of him for the first time in years, “just call me Roswell.”


End file.
